Oh, Wilson
by Zayz
Summary: Oh, Wilson. You and your underappreciated matchmaking skills... -Huddy-


**A/N**: This is just something very silly that randomly came to mind a few days ago that I decided to work on this weekend because I'm lame and have nothing to do except tedious homework. Try your best to enjoy it; and please review when you're through.

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**Oh, Wilson  
By: Zayz**

--

It was lunchtime when Wilson decided to make his move.

The two always spent their lunch hours together, munching on sandwiches and chatting, sitting at their favorite table in the back of the cafeteria. Despite all the patients coming in and out of their lives everyday, that part of their schedule never changed, them sharing the day's news and gossip over lunch, delighting in their usual friendly banter.

The timing was perfect for the plan Wilson had in mind; and he executed his move with great care, slipping it in right after his response to House's latest rant about societal hypocrisy with a tone not quite elusive or head-on, but somewhere in the middle:

"Oh, yeah, House…Cuddy likes you."

House, who had been hammering in the point that old women could not wear clothing aimed at young women under any circumstances (unless they had to do with sex), stopped literally mid-sentence and mid-bite of his sandwich at these six words.

"Wait, what?" The diagnostician's electric blue eyes narrowed, suspicious and wary and mildly alarmed all at once. "Repeat what you just said."

Perfect.

"I didn't really say much of anything, it was only something I remembered from this morning," Wilson said airily, biting into his sandwich with a glimmer of humor in his sweetly brown eyes. "Your speech about red versus black lingerie was much more interesting. Continue."

"No, no, no, that was not anything small you told me," House insisted. "You have to repeat it."

"All I said was that Cuddy liked you," said Wilson. "She told me so this morning. I was going to tell you, but I forgot. Until now."

House snorted. "You're going senile with age – you're starting to forget how long I've known you."

Wilson smirked, but House continued, "You don't '_forget_' something like my menopausal boss apparently having something resembling emotions towards me. You see it happen, store it deep within your brain, and pretend to bring it up casually so that I don't pick up on how excited you are by the prospect. Then you go psychoanalyst on me and tell me all about what this means for me, while I tune you out and finish my lunch."

He nodded wisely. "I'm pretty sure we've gone through this before. You might want to try a new routine to change things up a little."

Wilson sighed, taking a sip of his drink. "All right fine, you've got me," he said, half-sardonic and the other half something indecipherable.

"Of course I do." House leaned back in his seat, stretching backwards and hitting an innocent cafeteria visitor in the arm without noticing or caring. "So now you have to tell me about it, since you're clearly itching to do so. What did she say? How did she say it?"

"There's not much to say," Wilson stated, a vaguely dreamy look in his eye. "We were talking, and when the conversation stumbled upon you, she suddenly got this sad, puppy-dog look in her eyes and said your name with a breathy sigh. I asked what was up and eventually she told me that she liked you. She always has."

House's stare was blank and befuddled. "I certainly hope you're kidding. Or at least exaggerating."

Wilson threw his hands up in defense. "You _would _hope something like that."

"Uh oh, here comes the explanation…" House put his hands to his face, pretending to shield himself.

Wilson could only throw him a look and say, "I know it scares you, House, to know that a real relationship might actually be within your reach to a woman you might actually care about, but it's true. Cuddy likes you. I think this is the perfect opportunity to ask her out, see if things could work out between the two of you. Give it a try, you know?"

House's stare grew blank and befuddled again, obviously as skeptical as his friend knew he would be. "Hasn't Cuddy ever told you that you shouldn't come to work drunk? What'd you take – crack? A few drinks?"

"Nothing!" Wilson objected. "Only you would go straight to a drug theory when I'm telling you about something positive."

House snorted. "Okay, mission accomplished. You've spilled Cuddy's dirty guts for me and told me what you wanted me to hear. Done now?"

Wilson sighed in defeat. "I suppose I am."

"Cool." House borrowed his companion's drink and took a hearty gulp, leaving a little less than half of what was in the glass originally. "So where was I before you so rudely interrupted me?"

"I think it was how red underwear turns you on more than black underwear does," said Wilson.

House grinned as only he could, the wicked humor practically emanating from his face. "Oh yeah," he said. "I remember now."

And Wilson could only sigh and glumly finish the last dregs of his drink, resting his cheek in his palm as House went right back to his soap box.

Ah, well. That had actually gone better than he planned – because when it came to House, past experience had shown him that having no expectations was better than having a few and having them mercilessly crushed with a few careless words about the "Tit-Enlarging Effect" of red lingerie.

--

Later that afternoon, Wilson reported to Cuddy's office to pick up some patient-related documents and again made his move with deliberate cunning. Like the last time he tried this, he exercised his ability to act extremely innocent at a time when words were critical and the timing was even more so. He slipped it in right after he picked up his papers and wished Cuddy a good day:

"Oh, yeah, Cuddy…House likes you."

Cuddy, who had been arranging other papers she had to deal with at another time, exhaled irately at the statement, not at all perturbed.

"Yes, I'm sure he thinks very highly of my breasts, Wilson, thank you for informing me," she said, signing the bottom of a form.

"No, I'm serious," Wilson assured her, stepping back towards her desk, a little startled for the lack of reaction in the Dean of Medicine's demeanor. "He likes _you_. He told me so this morning."

Now Cuddy hesitated slightly, flipping her paper over a little slower than normal, as though she was quietly deliberating on the integrity of this new information. Wilson fought to keep his face straight and earnest.

"I am about ninety-nine percent sure he meant something sexual by his remark," she told him. "Don't hurt yourself getting excited about it."

"Cuddy, you don't understand what I'm talking about." Here, he allowed some excitement bleed into his tone of voice, a vaguely dreamy look in his eye. "We were talking, and when the conversation stumbled upon you, he suddenly got this sad, puppy-dog look in his eyes and said your name with a breathy sigh. I asked what was up and eventually he told me that he liked you. He always has."

Only at this point could Cuddy bear to look up, confusion in her blue-green eyes. "Really?" she asked. "Is that how it happened?"

"Yeah," said Wilson. "I was meaning to tell you all day, but it only came to me now. It was definitely something."

"I would assume so." Cuddy gave up trying to focus in on her paperwork, trapping her nose and mouth in her cupped hands as she tried to figure out how to respond. Her vision locked in with Wilson, something pure and honest and barely tapped before today just visible behind her irises. Wilson inwardly marveled how quickly he had managed to unravel someone like her.

"Are you…sure?" she asked, tentative, raw.

"Yes, I'm sure," said Wilson. "Why wouldn't I tell you if I wasn't?"

"That's true…" Cuddy lowered her hands and chewed nervously at her lips. "God. Are you _sure _he said that and wasn't referring to the prostitute he'd had over last night?"

Wilson was about to respond, but chose instead to give her a look and she only sighed again, clearly conflicted.

"I guess it's kind of inevitable that this would end up going _some_where," she said. "I just didn't know he'd actually admit it. I can't believe he did."

"House is a man of surprises." Wilson's smile was wry and Cuddy could not help but return it, the worry not yet leaving her features.

"I know," she said. "But…I guess, thanks for telling me, Wilson. I'll figure something out."

"No problem," he said, an added layer of emotion now rising in his smile. "I'll see you later."

Cuddy only nodded as Wilson left the room, furtive but very pleased with himself, wondering what on earth could possibly happen next.

--

"But I _need_ it!"

"House."

"It's probably the only chance he's got."

"House."

"He'll definitely die if I don't do it!"

"House."

"This time, it's actually medically necessary – you can even ask Foreman!"

"_House_." This time, Cuddy's tone was unyielding as she rose from her desk, her hands planted firmly on her hips. "For goodness sake, please _listen _to what I have to say before you give me a million reasons why I'm wrong."

"Why?" House wrinkled his nose. "You're always going on and on about how I waste time and there I was, trying to save you the trouble of stating your useless argument before I cleverly turned it on itself. That's about thirty extra seconds you could've had to do something else – and now you've lost a full minute in making me explain the whole system to you. Haven't you known me long enough to know how this works?"

Cuddy worked hard to retain her composure, her exhales slow and careful. "You cannot do a heart valve replacement, House," she stated clearly, "because the patient is fifty-four years old and would most likely end up dying on the operating table. I am not signing whatever you need me to sign."

House groaned. "I just told you – it's his only chance," he said. "Without this, he'll be dead before tomorrow morning."

"Then at least he will be with people who care about him rather than take his last breaths with strangers in masks looking on." Cuddy's blue eyes flashed, severity all too obvious. "I reiterate – you are not going to be doing this procedure and that's final."

"It is _not _final," House scoffed. "You're going to attempt to refute me here because it makes you feel like a good, authoritative Dean of Medicine – which, by the way, we both know fully well that you are not – and then after I give a few more reasons why I need this procedure, you will sigh and sit down at your desk and I will get what I want."

He glanced up at the ceiling, seeming to ponder and work something out in his head. "That would take about…five minutes, by my count. Five whole minutes – that's about three hundred seconds just gone, wasted, because you were insistent on the fruitless preliminaries. Maybe _I'm _not the time waster after all."

She opened her mouth as if to counter this remark – something she's admittedly quite good at doing – but all of a sudden, she changes her tactic, her expression softening as she asked, almost pleaded, "House, why must you do this to me? Does it give you some sort of morbid pleasure to watch me suffer?"

"…Yes."

Her expression didn't change – if anything, she softened just slightly more, much to his astonishment.

"Look, I know why you're doing this," said Cuddy.

"This can't be good," House muttered.

She sighed, allowing her hands to fall limp at her side rather than stay on her hips. She began to pace as she said a little too quickly, "A lot of insecure men –"

"I'm not insecure!"

"—they try to mask their affection for certain people with very rude, combative behavior," she went on as if he hadn't interrupted. "I mean, it makes sense, doesn't it? They have plenty of mental issues bogging them down and they don't want to worry about potentially caring about someone else, so they do their best to wrestle it off—"

House blinked a few times quickly, thrown off by this analysis. "What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded. "Are you on your period or something?"

The look on Cuddy's face was significantly exasperated. "House! Stop fighting me!" she insisted. "I mean, Wilson already told me everything – I know what's going on! I've thought a lot about it, and although I'm still pretty taken-aback by the whole thing, I've decided I'm willing to try if you are—"

"Wilson told you everything?" Now House was _very _thrown off. "What 'everything' did _he _tell _you_? He told _me _everything."

Cuddy faltered, the bewilderment written all over her face. "He…told me that you liked me," she said, her voice a little smaller. "That you've always liked me."

House's expression was almost comical in its outrage, horror, and mystification. "_Me _liking _you_? Ha! Never."

Cuddy was rather hurt. "Yes, thank you. Very flattering of you."

"Wilson told me that _you _liked _me _though," House said, ignoring her previous statement, still attempting to piece this together. "He said you two were talking and when the conversation got to me, you suddenly got this sad, puppy-dog look in your eyes and you said my name with a breathy sigh…"

"And eventually you told him that you liked me. You always have," Cuddy finished. "God. I think we've been played by Wilson."

"No, _you _have been played," House countered. "I never believed it for a second. You wouldn't just turn around and tell Wilson you like me. You have some weird honesty thing you're all hopped up on – you wouldn't lie like that."

"Well, I thought Wilson was an honest person too, so I believed what he said." She ran her hand through her hair, visibly distressed. "I won't be able to do that anymore, it seems…"

"Wilson is an evil genius when he wants to be," House reported.

"Then you've taught him well." Cuddy grimaced, the familiar sarcasm back in her face, but she was business once again as she said, "So…you don't like me."

"Is that disappointment I hear?" House's smirk was impish.

Cuddy started, as though she had temporarily forgotten that the man in front of her was indeed an ass that preyed on the human weaknesses of those around him. "No. _No_," she said. "I just need to hear it straight from you, so we're both clear."

"Okay," said House. "Well, I don't like you. There you go. You've heard me say it."

"Good," she said. "Honestly, I don't know what would happen if you did."

"Wilson would sing," House offered.

Cuddy's responding chuckle was stained with noteworthy apprehension. "Probably."

The pair remained quiet for a few seconds, standing there with muddled sentiments tainting the air between them, until House broke the silence by asking, "So…can I have my procedure now?"

"Fine," Cuddy groaned. "But I'm firing you if it goes wrong."

House shook his head. "You won't." The smile was practically audible in these two words.

"It won't go wrong or I won't fire you if it does?"

House's grin became even more pronounced. "Both."

"…Arrogant bastard." Cuddy went to sit at her desk again, seeming to move on from their conversation as she accepted House's form and signed it with a careless scrawl, handing it back to him. She cleared her throat.

"Now, go," she said. "Finish your procedure before your patient dies. I am tired of having you in my office."

"Okay, Mommy. I'll see you after school." House smirked and limped out of her office without a look behind him, failing to see the uneasiness rising back to his boss's surface, clear and obvious when he wasn't there to catch it.

He closed the door behind him on his way out and just as he was about to leave the hallway leading up to Cuddy's office, he stopped and noticed Wilson standing by the wall, frozen, as if hoping that he wouldn't be seen. House whirled right around, his suspicion instantly aroused at the sight.

"Wilson," he said.

"Hi." Wilson refused to meet his friend's eye.

"Are you going to tell me what you were doing there, or should I?"

"Well, I'm fully aware of your penchant for explaining me away, so I'll leave you to do the honors," he responded.

House nodded slowly, chewing on his lip. "How about we do this over pizza?" he suggested. "I'm hungry, you're going to be dead anyway for your stunt – we might as well have a last meal together after I'm done with work."

"I thought you would have admired my bold fearlessness." Wilson half-grinned.

"If you'd played Foreman and Thirteen, I probably would have," he said. "But as it is – I don't."

"Pizza it is."

And the two made their way down the hall together, House on his way to his office and Wilson on his way to finish up in his own office; House highly irritated and Wilson thrilled that, clumsy as the finale played out between the two socially-challenged doctors, his plan had worked out just fine.

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**A/N**: I did the best I could, particularly with characterization – don't flame me! –shields- Please do review and be gentle when you tell me all of the mistakes I probably made. I really wanted to try the idea…but the execution is questionable. Cheers.


End file.
